Amor Vincit Omnia
by AlwaysDreamin
Summary: There is no difficulty that love won't conquer;no disease that enough love won't heal;no door that enough love won't open..It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble;how hopeless the outlook;how muddled the tangle;how great the mistake.A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.If only you could love enough you'd be the happiest person in the world...
1. Chapter 1

I knew how he felt, in a sense. I knew what it was like to come back to a place you had called home for so long to find a pile of ash and rubble. Those things, I could sympathize with. However, I was lost on the fits of rage, the random outbursts and urge to kill. I can't stop them from happening. I can try to calm him down, but it never works unless he wants it for himself. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink; and right now, my horse is just staring longingly at the waves lapping at his feet.

We sleep apart, now. Under my pillow, there lays a knife, just in case things get out of hand, like they almost did in the beginning stages of the hijacking, before the war was won. All other weaponry is locked away where Peeta will never be able to find it. Some nights, when the memories and nightmares return, I wish he was here to comfort me, to hold me like I used to until I fell back asleep, but I know that it won't happen anymore…. Or at least for a while. Peeta is sick. He's depressed and ill and I can't help him and it hurts so much. Not only is he out of my reach, but my mother and Gale are gone as well.

I am alone in this world.

A crash from downstairs rouses me from my brooding and my war instincts kick in. I rush to the kitchen, knife in hand expecting the worst.

"God damn it, this stupid-"

"Haymitch?!"

The drunk turns to look at me, holding a broken wine bottle in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.

"Sweetheart! Howsigoin?" He slurs, stumbling over the millions of glass shards scattered over my floor.

"Haymitch, how many of those have you drank today?" I ask, gesturing to his bottle.

"Wha? Uh…I dunno….maybe two o' tree…."

I march over to a cupboard containing all of Peeta's soup pots and yank the biggest one out that I can find and fill it with enough cold water to give someone hypothermia.

"Haymitch, I'm sorry." I mumble. Within seconds, the contents of the cauldron are poured completely out, leaving my ex-mentor cursing and sputtering.

"What the hell!" He coughs, chucking the wine bottle to the ground. "Must you be so subtle?"

I laugh. Sarcasm is usually a sign he's at least somewhat sober. "I'd say it was necessary, wouldn't you?" I say, nodding in the direction of the pile of glass strewn across the gray tile.

Soon, Haymitch is laughing, as in rolling on the floor laughing, clutching the corkscrew tight to his chest. "Oh, it's nice to have some fun once in a while, eh, sweetheart? Fun to remember the good ole' days." I nod. "Sure. The good old days, right." _If I ever had any. _While Haymitch is reminiscing, I grab a mop and a broom out to clean up the mess that always seems to follow the old man around.

I'm almost done mopping up the water when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Haymitch stops laughing and glances in my direction. "Might want to fill that pot back up, Katniss." He whispers. I nod and put the mop down, ready for the worst case scenario. I'm suddenly very thankful that Haymitch is here. He always seems to succeed in taming the beast that is Peeta during one of his episodes.

The footsteps stop in the hallway and they are replaced with a tapping noise, like he's knocking on a door. I've never seen this one before.

"How long since the last one?"

"A few days ago he tried to drown me in the shower." I say, holding the pot as steady as I can, hoping that this one isn't as bad.

Haymitch stands up to his full height and hides the corkscrew in his breast pocket. Peeta gets worked up easily if he thinks he's being threatened.

The tapping gets more incessant. "Dad! Mom! Ryan! Are you there?"

My breath hitches in my throat. He's remembering when we returned to the district for the first time after the bombing.

"Please. Please. You have to be there! PLEASE!"

We can hear him crying now, slumped onto the floor and completely lost. I put down my pot and start to walk over, but Haymitch stops me. "No, let him come to us if he wants to. You might upset him." He warns. I step back, but it's too late. Peeta's heard us. He stomps into the room, tears streaming down his face and he's glaring at me.

"YOU! You killed them! You did this! My family is gone because of you!" He screams, coming dangerously close to me.

"Peeta, I didn't kill them, I-"

"Katniss! The pot!" Haymitch yells, trying to with strain Peeta.

I dump the water over his head as he screams and tries desperately to free himself from Haymitch's grip. As I watch him struggle, tears begin to well up in my eyes. I used to be able to look at him and feel comfort and joy and serenity; pure bliss, but now I can't find my Peeta anywhere in this man. He's been stolen from me because I was selfish. He's been robbed of his own mind and thoughts because of me, family killed because I escaped, and I didn't have the decency to make sure that he at least escaped along with me. The only person I've ever trusted completely gone. He's dead and an alternate-reality Peeta has been put in his place. I'm really crying now.

Peeta succumbed to Haymitch and stopped trying to release himself. He was still in tears, though. Haymitch helped him up into a chair and signaled for me to shut and lock all of the doors. It was time for Haymitch to try yet again to bring Peeta out of his stupor by attempting to get him to remember what really happened. So far he hadn't succeeded in anything accept making him more upset than he already is.

"Are you at least going to give us a proper 'Good Morning', then? We haven't seen you in a while, Peeta."

"Morning." He huffed, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

"Peeta, we want to help you, okay? You understand that, right?"

"I don't need any help." He said stubbornly.

Haymitch looks at me and proceeds to wave me over. I take a seat next to him and he continues to talk to Peeta.

"Hey, Pete, you know this girl, don't you? Can you tell me who she is?"

_Oh great. This question is always the best one. "She tried to kill me." Or "She wants me to be sold to the capitol". Nothing good ever comes from this one…_

Peeta looks at me and for the first time, he looks me straight in the eyes. I wonder what he sees any more when he looks at me. It used to be beauty, confidence, wit, charm. He probably sees me and thinks he's looking death straight in the face.

"Katniss." Peeta says quietly, looking back at Haymitch.

"Yes, but who is she to you?"

Peeta turns back to face me, still staring into my eyes. For a minute, I see a flash of the brilliant blue that his eyes used to be, hidden inside the muddy brown color I've gotten used to seeing the rare occasions that I actually see his face. He seems to be staring into my very soul, deciphering the jumble of mixed memories and emotions to find out who this mysterious girl is, or used to be, to him. A moment passes and I see another change, another streak of blue. I wonder if that's a good thing for a second and then decide it is.

"Peeta, what do you see?"

"I-I don't know. It's all…..foggy….I guess…."

"Tell me what's foggy."

Still gazing into my eyes, Peeta recounts various memories of me taking care of him in the cave in our first Hunger Games, lying with me on the roof, up until the last time I saw him and we were on the beach together.

Suddenly, he tenses up. "We played a game, didn't we? A real or not real game."

It takes me a second to realize that he's speaking directly to me for the first time in a long time, and then I remember sitting up one night trying to get him to remember me and what we used to be before we went off to storm the capitol.

"Yes, yes we did." I say, trying not to get my hopes up. _He could lapse back into it again, Katniss. Just wait._

"Can we play it again?" He asks, looking over at Haymitch as if he needs his permission. Haymitch nods.

"Sure." I say, fiddling with the pearl on my necklace. The very same pearl Peeta gave me on the night we were on the beach.

"You and I were friends; Real or not real?"

"Real."

"Okay. Your favorite color is green. Like the trees; Real or not real?"

I laugh. "Real."

He smiles and so does Haymitch. "This guy's a drunk and I had to give him a bath because you made me; Real or not real?"  
I laughed again. "Real, but I didn't make you. You offered."

Peeta's eyes shifted to blue completely and I started to cry a little, but he looked frightened all of the sudden and they became the ugly brown again.

"Let me go." He said calmly, gazing warily around the room as if the past ten minutes hadn't just happened.

Haymitch nodded for me to open the doors again so he could leave and I obeyed, trying to muffle the odd sobbing noise I was making. As Peeta left, it felt as though all the progress we just made had gone with him. I slumped into his now vacant chair, no longer hiding my tears.

Haymitch patted me on the shoulder. "It's alright sweetheart. He just needs a little time. That was progress, and it might have been too much for one day. Just let him come along at his own pace, alright?"

I nodded, hugging my knees to my chest. The world can be such a tease sometimes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello readers, here's a quick little update. Hope you like it! **

They always asked him what he thought; never what he felt. And honestly, he was glad for it. Feelings frightened him, set off a major alarm in his brain almost. That and his feelings in particular were always jumbled up and near indecipherable. It was his feelings pertaining to Katniss that he thought about after the confrontation with the girl and his ex-mentor while he was holed up in his bedroom, wishing he knew what the truth was anymore.

The moment he saw her cry, that alarm went off and he ran, afraid that her display of emotions would force him to deal with his own; like it was contagious. And now he was alone again and so was she. What little he remembered was progress, and that in itself was something to be celebrated, but he couldn't find it in himself to be happy. He hadn't in over a year. He had moments, sometimes days even, when he was himself, and he usually spent those figuring out what exactly was wrong with him. Why he couldn't just go and be with Katniss like he truly wanted to. Why he couldn't look at her without stifling an urge to be violent. Why she cried every time she saw him being somewhat normal. It was all just one big mess.

The only thing he could do was be alone. Garden, draw, sometimes even ice a cake or two, but he never ventured out of his bubble. It was all Peeta, all the time. The attacks on Katniss were usually during a dark day where he was, as he began referring to it, Peeta 2.0. The person the capital created. That evil version of himself began to appear more frequently in the recent months since he had started really realizing what had happened. What he had become. He hated himself for hurting her and for leaving her to face the tatters of District 12 alone. He wanted to change, and he had started to form a plan giving him a way to get rid of the second Peeta almost entirely. It still involved a lot of alone time, but he so desperately wanted it to work that he decided it would be worth hurting Katniss just a little bit more. He would have to come out of his room more and gradually begin conversing with her again, working on restoring his memory, so he could see her and feel love again.

He decided to start right away.

He rose from the edge of his bed and made his way to a tarped easel, standing and staring at it in silence. _Here goes nothing, He thought_. He ripped the tarp off the easel revealing a half-finished painting, depicting a dark haired girl picking flowers, with half of a large tree in front of her that half of a beautifully braided rope hung down. He had heard her sing a song, a sad one, when they got back from the Capitol and there was a part of it that sounded so eerily familiar, about a necklace of rope, that he had to put it in his picture. It was like he was being commanded to by some other person, or maybe even himself, the real Peeta so deeply buried under the tracker jacker venom.

Hours had passed since he had uncovered the art he began so many long months ago and he felt at peace with the quiet of the house and the beauty of the canvas, that he had almost entirely forgotten about the jumbled mess that was his thinking mind, and instead took command of his painting mind that had lain dormant for a long time. He got back into the rhythm of the strokes and jumped back into the precision of swirling the paints to form new colors, creating what his real self wanted to. Beauty over Violence. Love over Hate. Life over Death.

He felt so happy and relaxed that he decided to hum a little tune while he worked on his art. The song he sang was one that just came to him, he knew it well, yet he didn't know it at all. Soon a flash of a memory, foggy and distant upset the tranquility of the moment. He saw the flowers, and her singing. The little girl dying in her arms, only it was different. She killed the little girl. She purposely put the innocent child in danger for her own gain, but the little one didn't know that was her plan. She took Katniss for a friend, only she should've realized her for what she is…a foe. He felt like the victim again, an innocent bystander sold away, family killed while she escaped free. The anger surprised him, shocking him into frenzy.

He threw the cans of paint at the butter yellow walls and the hit with a loud thump, spraying the beautiful colors over the room. Pillows were thrown, blankets overturned. Clothes smattered with paint. The room became his canvas.

He gave himself quite a mess to clean up later. As he lay against the stained walls, hands covering his face, a small voice called out to him, assuring him that this wasn't who he was, and he could fix it. The reality of what he had just done washed over him. Walls ruined, bedspread in need of washing, mirror broken. _This wasn't necessary_. He told himself. _Work this out with words, paint, anything, just no more violence. This is NOT you. _He sighed and stretched out on the floor, pulling a purple-stained pillow to his chest and closing his eyes, shutting out the world and drifting off to sleep. Leaving the mess and his mind to deal with later.

-0o0-

She opened the door slowly and quietly, checking in on him after hearing all the smashing and clattering come to a stop. She saw the paint covered walls and the broken glass first, covering her mouth in shock. She stepped into his space calmly and cautiously, being careful not to disturb the beast, wherever he may be. The thought that he could pop up out of nowhere worried her, but not more than what he had done to his room, and possibly to himself. She saw the painting second, of the girl with no face picking white daisies in a meadow and she smiled; Knowing that he must've been okay at some point today. She saw him last, curled up on the floor with his pillow, sleeping soundly. She figured he might get cold and covered him up with the least paint-covered blanket she could find, taking the reast of the linens downstairs to be washed.

Awhile later, she brought back the clean blankets and sheets, setting them on his bed neatly folded. She left the room otherwise untouched, save for something she left behind.

"Goodnight Peeta." She whispered. And she was gone as quick as she came.

-0o0-

"Peeta, _I hope you're alright. I washed your blankets and sheets for you. Sleep well._

_See you around,_

_K"_

**A/N: Well, how was it? If you read this, I would really like to hear your thoughts, criticism or otherwise (But no flames, please. Let's not be rude.) ! A writer needs reviews to function! And I'd really like to know whether or not to continue with this story or not, so let me know what you think!**

**Bri**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, just a small update dedicated to the lovely individuals who take their time to review! I would love if I could hear from YOU *points dramatically in your direction* Thanks for reading!**

She knew that it was best to leave him totally alone after an outburst like that, so she stayed in her room. She had taken to reading since Peeta had gone dark. Her favorite selection was a battered and ancient copy of Shakespeare, only instead of Shakespeare, it read ' Sakspre' due to the wear and tear of 90 years. She loved the comfort of the old words and love so clearly written out on the faded yellow pages. It was like meeting up with an old friend every time she opened it up.

Katniss decided to mend the spine of the book so to protect it from crumbling to bits. As she applied the gluey paper substance over the old novel, she found herself wishing that Peeta's thoughts were clearly written out in a book, so she might be able to process what was going on with the sad boy. He was like a split personality, only not only were the personalities split in two, but the two personas themselves changed depending on the day too. One day Peeta's dark side could be violent, the next day distant. The normal Peeta could be quiet and dysfunctional, the next day a highly functional and chatty being. The latter was so comforting and exciting to see that it made her cry, and she hated crying in front of people. But she hardly could count Peeta as a person anymore, she thought. He's not even alive really; he's a total shadow of himself.

The thought, although just a passing one, rung true and it made her sadder upon the realization that she was right. He's not really Peeta anymore. Not my Peeta. Not his father's, his mother's, Ryan's or Logan's. He's President Snow's. And even he is long gone. She came to realize that that was really his last direct attack on her personally. Dying, and taking the boy she loved with him.

She quickly dismissed the thought before she had the chance to do something stupid like cry.

The binding of the book was left to dry and she decided to busy herself with housework to take her mind completely off of Peeta's situation. She cleaned the study, mopped the floors and did the laundry. She also got the mail; which included a letter from Gale and a present from Mrs. Hawthorne: Recipes for Berries. She called up the Hawthorne's to thank her and she talked to Posy and Rory for awhile before attempting to call her mother. Like usual, she neglected to answer.

Deciding not to leave a fiftieth voicemail on her answering machine, the 18 year old wandered about the quiet house in search of a good pastime, but it wasn't going well. There was literally nothing to do.

She decided to sit and watch television, which had recently been restored in District 12. Settling on a rerun of "Capitol's Got Talent" (which is ironic, because they really don't), she tuned out and fell asleep to a terrible rendition of a lullaby.

-0o0-

He awoke to silence, and it was a peaceful one. He felt himself smile as he read the note perched on top of his blankets, and it was a strange feeling, smiling. He hadn't done it in so long that it felt odd, like someone was pulling at the corners of his mouth and forcing him to. He threw the note out, though, as a precautionary thing. He never knew what might set him off and when.

Peeta turned his attention to the freak show of a room he was in, feeling a sense of urgency to clean it up.

It took him 3 hours just to sweep, dust and wash one wall, and a break was much needed, so he ventured out of his room to see if he was alone. Creeping slowly down the staircase, he got a glimpse of Katniss passed out on the couch, and god knows how long she's been there. He decided to turn back so not to wake her, or accidentally harm her. She looked so peaceful there all alone, just resting. He smiled and returned to his room and back to solitude.

**A/N:Yeah, I know. Really short blurb, but it's all I could get down. It took me a few days to even get this much. I've just been so busy lately, and I felt like this story needed a little more something before I officially stuck it on HIATUS. I take all Honors classes, so I'm more concerned with writing essays than fanfiction right now. Sorry guys**** Please review and let me know what you think!**


	4. Calling all Readers!

**Hey guys, this is just an A/N! I was wondering what I should do next in this story, and I thought you guys might want to contribute! All ideas must fit rating on story (T) and go with current plot direction. If I decide to use your idea, I will PM you and credit you in the chapter the idea is used. If you are interested, you can leave a review or PM me if the suggestion is a bit more elaborate. Thanks so much and have a lovely day!**

**Xx,**

**Bri**


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